


Make Do.

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Blackrom, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your kismesis is nowhere to be found. You'll make do with his dancestor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Do.

You shove him to the floor and he grunts, mostly just blowing air out of his nose. When you climb over him, his hands shove under your shirt and start stroking your gills, a little roughly.

You moan, though, and he chuckles, rolling his hips up to where you can feel his bulge against the cleft of your ass. His voice breaks into you pan unbidden, and what it says makes you whine, too lost in sort-of enjoying the chafing of his gloves on your gills.

“ **Little fucker like you couldn’t take my bulge in your nook, huh?** " He croons, eyes glowing faintly. " **Guess I’ll have to make do, again.** ”

You can’t imagine what he means, when you were the one who found him and decided that one Makara, whichever one, was better than none. He tears your shirt, literally  _tears_ your shirt off, and shoves you off him to the floor. You snarl, but when he presses against you, holding you down, you just mewl, your bulge writhing against his through your respective pants.

He pulls his gloves off carefully and sets them off to one side, then rakes his claws down your chest, hard enough that you bleed. You whine, your hips bucking upward, and he groans in his throat, grinding harder on you.

You shudder and push him off, pulling at your pants to speed up the process. He yanks them down, quickly even though they’re rather tight on you, and drops them behind him. You try and pull his shirt off, but he slaps your chest, right on one of the scratches he’d left behind, so you just lay back. He unzips his shorts and wrestles his bulge out, a grim smile on his stitched lips.

You open your mouth to ask what he’s smiling about, but all you manage is a weak chirp as his bulge prods at your wastechute, slipping inside a little ways. You twitch, not really to get away, but because it sends shivers of  _strange_ through your whole body.

He pushes in a little more, and much to your surprise, you moan. He grins as much as he can, pulling at the stitches on his lips, and keeps pressing into you until he’s in all the way, and your thighs are shaking, your abdomen coated in translucent violet as your bulge writhes around on it. He rolls his hips and you keen, your eyes rolling back, but his fingers squeeze at the base of your bulge, and you can’t come.

“ **Not yet, little motherfucker. Hold your pail.** " His voice says, sounding almost sweet, though his face remains passive.

You whine, but you don’t care, it feels good, somehow. He pulls out and you whimper at the loss, until he shoves forward again, letting out a breath through his nose. You moan, and he finds a smooth, fast rhythm that leaves you clawing at the ground to where your claws are breaking, and the pain from your fingertips and your abdomen from being held so close to the edge but not allowed over makes every twinge of pleasure that much better.

He starts moving faster, and you think that somewhere in the back of your mind you hear him tell you how tight you feel. He removes his hand from your bulge and you sob, coming harder than you ever have. You feel your body clench around him, but he just purrs and keeps going, his bulge lashing almost painfully inside you.

You shudder, feeling yourself working up to another orgasm, until his hand finds your cheek. You chirp at him, and realize that you’re crying a little. He purrs and redoubles his efforts, so any worries you had about him stopping are tossed out the metaphorical window.

Maybe twenty seconds later and you come again, right when you notice the slight  _squelching_ sound from his thrusts. Your nook had dribbled down, and that explained for you why it was so smooth. It occurs to you as he groans and comes, filling you but not pulling out, that he must have done this before.

You catch your breath and push at his chest. “Lemme go… Use the bucket.”

He chuckles and lets you up, but doesn’t avert his gaze as you empty yourself.

You think you’ll have to re-evaluate your quadrants, because you’re sure you really hate him right then, and Gamzee doesn’t even occur to you when you snarl at his dancestor.

**Author's Note:**

> Chucklevoodoos seem like they'd make blackrom that much weirder.  
> if you liked this, consider supporting me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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